Archangel's Sun (Guild Hunter #13) - Nalini Singh Page 0,126
as an indulgence, Tzadiq had utilized the chocolate as high-energy food to tide over those settlements that were down to the bare bones, their cupboards empty and their fields unplowed.
Qin, distant in the Pacific, had worked with Raphael and with Eli’s people to ensure that part of the globe didn’t crumble and shatter. Caliane had thrown her weight and power behind Suyin and Neha. As for Alexander and Raphael, both the old man and the pup would always have Titus’s friendship and love.
Even that donkey Aegaeon had sent multiple squadrons to Africa to assist in the final two weeks of reborn cleanup. Titus’s lip curled. He despised the other archangel as a man and would do so for eternity, but he had to admit Aegaeon did his duty as an archangel.
Titus’s own territory had been the worst hit postwar, and the rest of the Cadre expected nothing from him but that he stop the reborn advance, but Africa had gone much further. Every single territory now had access to the cure. Titus’s healers and scholars and makers of such things had worked day and night to accelerate the pace of production. As for the angel discovered by Ozias and Sharine, he’d regained his senses . . . and his memories of eating living flesh.
Physically yet weak, his biggest trouble at this point was his mind. He tended to vomit at the sight of solid food, so the healers had him on liquids. Nothing that might remind him of tearing off hunks of his victim’s flesh.
“It’s psychological, not physiological,” Sira had confirmed. “He’s cured, but as to whether he will ever heal . . . that I can’t predict.”
It was a nightmare to imagine what angelkind would’ve looked like had the infection spread widely before they discovered the cure. Charisemnon could’ve brought their entire people to their knees, horror their breath.
But Charisemnon was defeated, his legacy of evil extinguished.
It’s done, he messaged Sharine. The rest of the hard work begins.
Archangels, one and all, were worn down to the bone, and while Elijah’s consort had shared the good news that his healing had progressed to the point where he’d soon wake, they still had no idea when or if Astaad and Michaela would return.
To date, Titus hadn’t had any real problem with vampires giving in to bloodlust; everyone had been so afraid of the reborn that they hadn’t had the energy to do anything but fight. Other territories hadn’t been so lucky.
Which was why, despite his need to see Sharine, touch her, hear her voice, he set a slow and steady pace on his flight back to his citadel. He wanted to be sure he was seen, his power noted. Landing in multiple locations, he was frank about the fact that vampires who forced him to divert resources because of bloodlust or simple stupidity would all be given the same sentence: death.
“Make it known,” he told the leader of a large vampire kiss. “I have no patience and even less inclination to tell the Guild Hunters to return rogue vampires to their masters for punishment. Field executions have been authorized across the board.” If a hunter balked, one of Titus’s commanders would do the task. “This is the only warning you’ll get.”
The vampire in front of him, a mostly useless type who’d cowered behind the safe walls of his residence during the past months, went deathly pale, then bowed. “Sire, I’ll spread the word.”
Certain it would travel with wildfire speed across the continent, Titus continued on. On reaching his citadel, he bathed properly for the first time in what felt like an eon, then dressed in dark brown pants that hugged his thighs—for Sharine did like his thighs—and a crisp white tunic with a standing collar and no sleeves. Gold embroidery curled around the collar and on the bottom edges of the tunic.
His eye fell on the small velvet box that sat on the table beside his bed.
Tzadiq had come through for him on the highly specific item Titus had asked him to procure. Removing it from the box, he slipped it into a pocket in his pants with care, then pulled on his sword harness. Thrusting his swords into place on his back not long afterward, he looked at himself in the mirror and nodded. He looked what he was: a warrior in mind to court and win his lady.
Titus didn’t even think of failure. That way lay a paralyzing anguish.